Chapter 145

Ch.145 Apostle of the Goddess of War

“Surrender?”

“It’s a custom to host even an enemy emissary. Isn’t that how it works in your world?”

“So I’ve heard.”

He’d never actually served as an emissary in hostile territory.

If this counted as his first such experience, then so be it.

Even this seemingly romantic principle was part of Goddessly culture.

This encounter made Sion reassess the Goddesses entirely.

Achille—the Goddess of War closest to him—was so approachable and human that he’d never grasped their true grandeur.

“How graciously we’ve treated you—fine food, warm hospitality. We’ve shown our respect. Now, consider carefully.”

“I have no intention of surrendering. If that’s what you hoped for, your offer was meaningless, Lady Magoth.”

Magoth chuckled lightly—amused that an Apostle of War would add the honorific ‘Lady.’

“My offer of surrender is… different in nature.”

She gazed toward the pond beyond the garden, where Goddesses splashed in tea-time play. Fresh laughter floated over.

Then she turned back to Sion.

“It’s a form of co-governance—a pact.”

“A pact?”

Sion was certain now.

‘Whatever their scheme, they clearly don’t desire all-out war.’

He searched Magoth’s eyes for deception.

Deep. Infinitely deep.

Her black pupils held a depth surpassing even the abyss or the deep sea—like a single jewel containing the cosmos.

“Eru—my foolish sister—chose dissolution. She meant to perish with me.”

Unexpected.

Magoth gestured for Sion to sit beside her on a stone bench—adorned with intricate carvings.

‘Did the Evil Gods carve these themselves?’

Sion sat, facing the garden, where Goddesses played like children.

Magoth resumed:

“But I don’t wish to vanish. And with Eru gone, my will to fight has greatly weakened.”

“…”

“What nonsense…”

Magoth stared into the empty air, eyes steeped in melancholy.

Silence fell. Sion waited, unsure how to respond.

He needed to hear more.

“I wish to cleanse my dishonor and be accepted once more as a Goddess. In return, we’ll cease killing humans and rule as benevolent deities.”

Plop.

It felt like a clump of rot had dropped onto a muddy floor—disgusting, yet demanding inspection.

‘What did she just say?’

As if awaiting his reaction, Magoth added:

“I wish to manifest the Heavens upon the mortal plane.”

“The Heavens?”

“Topple the human royalty and seat the Goddesses in their place. Wouldn’t humanity benefit from praying to real, living Goddesses?”

“And you’d promise peace in that scenario?”

Magoth closed her eyes, took a long breath, and confessed sincerely:

“It will be difficult. You and the other Goddesses may never accept it. But I speak without a shred of falsehood.”

Sion sensed her power intensifying—realizing she was exercising immense restraint.

A sovereign who’d ruled for eons—

She’d likely never humbled herself so before a mere mortal.

‘The fact that she’s even speaking to me shows sincerity.’

Yet her true intent remained uncertain.

This could be a sweet offer to lower his guard—then stab him in the back.

“Accept my proposal, and no more blood will be spilled. We only seek to reclaim our rightful place as Goddesses.”

“That’s… problematic.”

Sion spoke.

“How so?”

“Such an important matter should be discussed with the Goddesses—not with me. I hold no authority to decide.”

Magoth shook her head calmly.

“No. This proposal can only be made to you.”

“Why?”

“Eru chose you. As the final means to erase us. Other Goddesses pose no threat to me.”

“Then…”

For a split second, Magoth’s obsidian irises flickered with light.

“Only you and Achille threaten me. You possess the power to kill me—though even I don’t know what that power is.”

“So you believe I hold such power—whatever the reason.”

“Because Eru chose you.”

The Goddess of Light clearly commanded more trust from enemies than allies.

Because she was Eru.

Because she was the Sovereign.

She must have entrusted Sion with something.

Her foresight would be fulfilled.

It was fate—unavoidable.

Fascinating how these beings, who’d never met Sion, showed him deference born of ancient dread.

“You call me a threat—why not kill me now?”

Sion challenged.

“You could. But that’s always an option—and a last resort. Killing you would be a declaration of war. Even if we won, the cost would be catastrophic.”

Magoth gazed fondly at her sisters.

“They’re precious to me. I won’t lose any of them.”

“…”

Sion looked at the Goddesses with conflicted eyes.

The more he watched, the more alien they felt.

After inflicting such horrors on humanity—how could they laugh so innocently?

Did he appear equally monstrous to them?

He wrestled with the question.

No answer came.

He missed Achille.

He longed for his master.

“Speak your truth. Give me your answer.”

“…Honestly, I’m dizzy.”

“Only you hold the power to negotiate. The other Goddesses would never believe me—they’d charge in blindly to kill me, even knowing it’s folly.”

Sion bit his tongue at Magoth’s tempting words.

If the Goddesses’ reign could be peacefully established on Earth…

It would be an ideal ending.

But there was no guarantee it would unfold as promised.

Moreover…

‘Tartania’s offer is bothering me.’

If Magoth’s proposal were genuine, Tartania’s defection would be unnecessary—they aligned too closely.

Both claimed to reject war and seek coexistence—goals anyone would welcome.

‘But if that were truly their wish…’

They’d have proposed it long ago.

Eru, of all Goddesses, understood them best.

If she resorted to self-annihilation, true peace couldn’t be this simple.

‘Stay calm. Never yield easily.’

Sion gritted his teeth. This could all be an illusion.

He had to anchor himself—to never lose sight of his own star.

Silently, he prayed:

‘May the Goddess of War be with me.’

She alone was his compass, his North Star.

“Do you need more time to consider?”

“Yes. One more question.”

“Ask.”

“Where is Sir Loenhaugter?”

Instantly, Magoth’s aura shifted.

The shadows she’d restrained writhed like beasts about to break loose.

“How do you know?”

“I followed his trail here. Discovering this pocket dimension made his presence a natural assumption.”

“He’s not a living being. He’s energy—a vessel of knowledge.”

“I’ve heard as much.”

“Tartania must’ve told you.”

“Yes.”

“A kind-hearted girl.”

But Magoth’s eyes turned icy as she continued:

“He’s in my custody. Part of my preparations to manifest the Heavens on Earth. I’ll remake him into a Round Table—restoring the Heavens’ power. Think of him as a… replica.”

“A replica of the Round Table…”

“A being I never knew existed. Eru prepared him in secret. It sends chills down my spine.”

Magoth clicked her tongue, praising the vanished Eru—even wondering if she was still being manipulated.

“Apostle of War, I wish to succeed Eru—to abandon bloodshed and build a new future.”

“…Then return Sir Loenhaugter.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“I’m extracting his knowledge—to gather the Holy Grail shards.”

“And when that’s done… what of him?”

Magoth answered casually:

“Only a shell will remain. He’ll exist eternally—in another form. Don’t project human emotions onto him. It’s meaningless. I cannot empathize.”

“No!”

Sion shot to his feet.

The giggling, childlike Goddesses froze and turned to him in unison—as if they’d been listening all along.

“I can’t accept that.”

“You cling to trivial sentiment.”

“That’s what makes us human.”

“Unnecessary.”

Sion made his decision.

“Now I know for certain—you must never become the Sovereign Goddess.”

“What did you say?”

“If you can’t understand that ‘trivial sentiment,’ Magoth, you’ll always be an Evil God to humanity.”

“…”

Magoth rose.

Her calm hair erupted like a demon’s mane. A shadow beneath her feet swelled, threatening to swallow the world.

“Apostle of War—do not cross this river. A storm of blood will rise. Humanity will witness darkness deeper than night—and none shall see light again.”

Magoth excelled at threats.

“This apocalypse will be summoned by your reckless choice—”

Her shadow coiled around Sion, lifting him off the ground.

The overwhelming might of a divine sovereign—irresistible.

“One last chance. Cooperate. We begin anew.”

Sion met the Goddess of Darkness with eyes just as cold.

Even as darkness consumed him, the Apostle of War felt no fear.

Armored in faith, wielding a blade forged by prayer, he would not be mastered by shadow.

Slice!

Sion’s sword cleaved through the dark.

Clang!

In a flash, he put distance between himself and Magoth.

Like lightning, the moment stunned even her—her reaction delayed by surprise.

“Where did your weapon come from?”

Sion grinned.

Magoth hadn’t sensed his spatial storage—a divine domain gifted by the Goddess of War.

Though his master’s black sword had been confiscated upon entry, his twin blades—Yogeo and Mago—remained safely hidden.

Especially Yogeo, which had devoured ambient malice and digested it completely—its pulse now thunderous.

‘It’s practically drooling for the Evil God’s blood. What a fearsome blade.’

Born of magic, yet hungry to consume more—even biting its own master. Never had Yogeo felt so reliable.

“You…!”

Sion, twin blades drawn, radiated murderous intent.

The Evil Gods encircled him instantly.

It looked reckless—but it wasn’t.

Sion was the Apostle of War.

He never fought battles he couldn’t win. His every move sought only victory.

Crack—

At that exact moment—

To the sides of Sion and Magoth, space warped like shattering glass. A rift tore open.

Whoosh!

Wind and magic surged inward as three figures stepped through.

Thud.

A radiance erupted from the fracture—dispersing even Magoth’s darkness.

Menesia, hand outstretched, unraveling the pocket dimension’s barrier.

Emily, reinforcing another barrier to repel the Evil Gods’ power.

And War.

The moment benevolent Goddesses descended upon the Evil Gods’ domain.

“My Lady!”

Sion cried out—joy lighting his face.

“My child. Are you unharmed?”

The Goddess of War spoke.

Her armor—forged from divine arms Sion had never seen—glowed with wrath.

Black eyes burned with fury, ready to incinerate all they touched.

The Evil Gods murmured in dread:

“It’s… Achille.”

“War has come.”

“S-someone help me up…”

The buried terror of ancient battles stirred their trauma—reawakening the nightmare of the Goddess of War.

Schedule: Every mon, wed, fri and sun

Review at

NovelUpdate